David Sobel, an education professor at Antioch New England Graduate School, lives outside Keene, New Hampshire, on a wooded hill in a frame house with a wood stove. Although we鈥檇 never met, he鈥檇 offered to put me up for a night when I came to New England to visit two rural elementary schools with which he was involved.
I wasn鈥檛 sure what to expect. The 55-year-old Sobel had been described to me as a 鈥渞ock star鈥� and 鈥済uru鈥� in environmental education, which made me worry he鈥檇 be full of himself. And then there was that New Agey message on his answering machine, which ended with 鈥淚 hope you鈥檙e having a blissful day.鈥�
In person, though, Sobel seemed a regular guy, part professor, part outdoorsman, with a tall, lumbering body, a bristle-brush moustache, and thick glasses. I met him at his office, we ate dinner at a local restaurant, and then we got in our cars and Sobel led the way up dark country roads to his home. He welcomed me inside, explaining, 鈥淚鈥檓 divorced,鈥� then added that his daughter was in Costa Rica, working as an intern in an environmental school, and that his son, who lived with him most of the time, was at his mom鈥檚 that night. 鈥淢y partner is usually here, too,鈥� he added. 鈥淏ut tonight, she鈥檚 at her place.鈥�
His home was tidy and comfortable. Because it was February, I was surprised to see the Christmas tree still up. 鈥淵eah, I was a little embarrassed about that,鈥� he said as if he鈥檇 suddenly remembered the tree on our way to his house and been chagrined.
Sobel has written several excellent books, including Place-Based Education: Connecting Classrooms & Communities. Although I hadn鈥檛 heard the term when I was teaching writing to grade school kids in New York City, it turns out that 鈥減lace-based education鈥� is what I鈥檇 been doing. It had come to me by instinct鈥攐r maybe out of desperation. As I told Sobel during dinner, I鈥檇 been horrified to discover that my students spent next to no time outdoors. But how could they? Their parents worked. They were too young to play alone in the city streets. Even in summer, they were cooped up in small apartments. Their school didn鈥檛 even have recess! To get the kids outside, I created a multidisciplinary curriculum based on trees, and a supportive principal that year let us spend two full days each month in Central Park.
Those trips were a lot of extra work. Not every one went smoothly. But when I got it right, like the day the kids scavenged all manner of nuts and seeds, then figured out how each was dispersed, or when they sat on rocks and wrote passionately about the trees around them, I knew I was teaching well.
Sobel told me, 鈥淐ity kids aren鈥檛 the only ones who don鈥檛 spend time outside.鈥� A survey of 4th graders in Keene (a much smaller, safer city than New York) showed that only 25 percent played outside after school, he said. The rest watched television, even on a beautiful fall day. 鈥淩ural kids are as disconnected from their environment and as saturated in electronic media as urban kids,鈥� he continued. And schools aren鈥檛 making it better. He complained that environmental education has been 鈥渕arginalized to the point it鈥檚 devolved into 50-minute, cutesy programs on owls.鈥� Even extended units鈥攕ay, on the rain forest鈥攎ay do more harm than good.
His own son, he recalled, came home teary-eyed from grade school one day, saying, 鈥淒addy, did you know a thousand acres of rain forest disappeared while we were having lunch?鈥� Sobel chuckled quietly at this memory, then continued: 鈥淩ain forest curriculums, especially in the early grades, impose a sense of doom and gloom on kids, engendering a sense of hopelessness about the environment. I mean, there鈥檚 not much a child can really do about a place so far away.鈥�
He calls this kind of anxiety 鈥渆cophobia鈥� and argues that it makes more sense to teach children about the environment in which they live and play.鈥淏ecause that鈥檚 a place they can do something about,鈥� he told me. For example, students can set up recycling bins in the cafeteria, monitor water quality in a nearby river, and help maintain local nature trails.
But place-based education, Sobel explained, isn鈥檛 limited to the natural environment. It embraces the school鈥檚 community as well, allowing elders to share their versions of local history in interviews or politicians to attend 鈥渢own meetings鈥� staged by a social studies class. In a sense, there鈥檚 nothing new in all of this. 鈥淧lace-based teaching is really an elaboration of the Deweyan notion that you need to get kids engaged with real-world activities and real-world problem solving,鈥� Sobel said. 鈥淎nd the real world needs to be, especially in the beginning, nearby and visible.鈥�
These theories were put into practice in 1997, when Sobel and several Antioch colleagues launched CO-SEED (Community-based School Environmental Education). With foundation and federal funding, the group seeks to turn middling schools into better ones by making them models of place-based education. Selected schools sign on for three years, with CO-SEED providing ongoing professional development and advice; money for projects and substitute teachers; sponsorship of community events; and, most important, a part-time place-based educator with local expertise.
It鈥檚 a many-faceted approach, like a doctor administering multiple therapies in the hope that something will work. So far, 11 schools in rural New England and urban Boston have been, or are, CO-SEED sites (and two more, in Maine, will come on board next year). Sobel said five or six had been quite successful; I would be visiting two. One, he told me, made terrific use of its natural resources, the other of its human ones.
Gilford, New Hampshire, is northeast of Keene, in lake country. It was hard driving because the sun was bright against the snow, making me squint. Despite Sobel鈥檚 precise directions, I got lost somewhere around Lake Winnipesaukee, a body of water so huge it might almost be a sea. The lake was snow-covered, but I nearly went off the road when I saw cars driving across it. Here and there, holes had been sawed in the ice for fishing.
The town of Gilford is tiny, its center a crossroads with some clapboard homes, a country store, and a white-steepled church. Just half a mile down is Gilford Elementary, a K-4 school with 450 kids. It鈥檚 a nicely maintained brick building with a cupola. Behind it are fields and wooded hills. There鈥檚 also a nature trail back there. Before CO-SEED, though, few teachers had taken advantage of it. Now, all of them do.
Involving so many teachers was a gradual process. CO-SEED doesn鈥檛 descend on a school insisting that everyone get with the program. At first, it works with those who are interested, then it lets the news spread. 鈥淓ventually,鈥� Sobel said, 鈥渙thers discover that place-based teaching is a more effective way of doing what they want to do anyway.鈥�
Gilford鈥檚 principal, Sandy McGonagle, played a critical role in CO-SEED鈥檚 success at her school. She was a strong supporter from the beginning, and the collaborative atmosphere she鈥檇 fostered among her staff made it easier for teachers to learn from (and be inspired by) one another鈥檚 place-based projects. When I first met McGonagle, though, she seemed an unlikely CO-SEED ally. An attractive woman with coiffed hair and a stylish outfit, she looked more hostess than hiker, but she later assured me she鈥檇 been out on the nature trail many times.
As McGonagle walked me through the corridors, she greeted students and staff with a cheerful 鈥済ood morning,鈥� then delivered me to the school鈥檚 place-based educator, Cathy Duffy. (Although CO-SEED鈥檚 funding for this position had ended, the school district found it so valuable they鈥檇 added Duffy鈥檚 salary to the budget.) Known in the school as Cathy Co-Seed, the 34-year-old Duffy is a passionate woman with piercing blue eyes. She works at Gilford two days a week; the rest of the time she鈥檚 program director at Prescott Farm Audubon, a nearby environmental education center.
That morning, Duffy was heading to the nature trail with a 2nd grade class and their teacher, Kristie Katz. We all put on snowshoes, which took some wrangling. It was my first time snowshoeing and, like some students, I needed help getting mine on. They鈥檙e awkward things, like having tennis rackets for shoes, and I was advised to 鈥渨alk like you鈥檙e wearing a diaper.鈥�
There were about 20 kids, and off we went in single file, duckling style, our snowshoes making muffled thump thump thumps. Every so often, a child would lose balance and fall or a snowshoe would come off, but it was a beautiful day and no one complained.
鈥淵ou like being outside instead of in the classroom?鈥� I asked a girl.
鈥淵eah,鈥� she answered, but with a tone so matter-of-fact, I realized I鈥檇 asked a really stupid question.
鈥淲ow, guys!鈥� Duffy cried. 鈥淐heck these tracks out!鈥�
Tracking is a popular place-based activity, and Duffy had spotted some itty-bitty mouse prints leading from a teeny-tiny hole in the snow. But as the kids gathered round to see, a too-eager snowshoe plopped onto the tracks, erasing them. Oops.
No matter. Tracking wasn鈥檛 the main event of the day, anyway.
That past fall, Duffy told me, she had been out with Katz鈥檚 class on a plant-and-rock walk when they鈥檇 found the way flooded. Duffy imitated the amazement of her students: 鈥淲e can鈥檛 get across! We can鈥檛 get across!鈥� Eventually, she said, they鈥檇 figured out the flooding was caused by a beaver dam.
鈥淚t was wicked exciting!鈥� she said.
And so began a yearlong beaver unit (planned in concert with Katz), which so far has involved writing stories about beavers, sketching and drawing habitats, measuring water depth, and identifying tree species favored by beavers.
鈥淗ey, guys!鈥� Duffy called. 鈥淥ver this way!鈥�
She took off at a clip鈥攐r as much of a clip as you can manage in snowshoes鈥攁nd several kids matched her pace. It was like watching penguins hurry. I hung with the stragglers, and eventually we were all at the edge of a pond, in the middle of which sat a beaver鈥檚 lodge made of mud, sticks, and logs. It looked a little like a hut a hermit might have built. Duffy told us, 鈥淵ou know what鈥檚 really cool? The entrance to the lodge is underwater, but the beaver鈥檚 sleeping quarters are dry.鈥�
When Duffy spoke to the group, her voice made an echo, and she often raised her hand to the sky, like a preacher.
I asked a boy nearby if he鈥檇 ever seen the beaver.
鈥淣o. They come out at night mostly.鈥�
鈥淲hat else can you tell me about them?鈥�
鈥淯m, they eat wood and sticks and bark.鈥�
鈥淵uck,鈥� I said, trying to make a joke.
鈥淣o,鈥� the student corrected me. 鈥淭hey like it!鈥�
鈥淚 see. Do beavers hibernate?鈥�
鈥淣o. They鈥檙e active in winter.鈥�
鈥淲hy do they build lodges in the water?鈥�
鈥淪ome just so they can sleep in. And they stock their food underwater.鈥�
鈥淲hy do they do that?鈥�
鈥淏ecause um ... maybe ... um ... no clue!鈥� he said with a cheerful shrug.
鈥淚t鈥檚 because the beavers are very short,鈥� offered a girl, 鈥渟o it鈥檚 hard to get around in the snow.鈥�
Another girl suggested it was too cold to go looking for food in the snow, but none of their thoughtful answers were on the money.We wouldn鈥檛 learn the truth of the matter until after several kids noticed a sinister set of tracks leading across the frozen pond to the lodge. For fear the ice might not hold, we couldn鈥檛 examine them. But when it was speculated that they might belong to a predator, maybe a fox or weasel, my imagination quickly connected the dots. Poor beaver!
鈥淭hat鈥檚 why they build dams in the first place,鈥� Duffy explained to the class, 鈥渟o they can flood areas, which lets them swim further out to get their food. They don鈥檛 travel much beyond a hundred yards into the woods. And if they had to go out in the snow in winter to find food, they鈥檇 be a food target.鈥�
Later I asked Katz, who鈥檚 in her 40s, what place-based learning has meant to her. She told me, 鈥淚t鈥檚 the difference between teaching adaptation and habitats by reading them a story, showing pictures, trying to recreate it inside鈥攁nd going out and seeing it firsthand, which makes a bigger impression.鈥�
Katz鈥檚 evolution from traditional to place-based teacher is probably typical. Before CO-SEED, she鈥檇 skied and skated and enjoyed being outside, but she鈥檇 never considered nature a teaching resource. And even if she had, figuring out how to use it would have been too daunting. She told me, 鈥淗aving the help of an environmental educator, who has the expertise and knows the resources, who can show you how it all connects to the standards you have to teach anyway鈥攚ell, it鈥檚 just made all the difference.鈥�
鈥淲ould you do place-based teaching without Cathy?鈥� I asked.
Katz winced and said, 鈥淚t would be doable, but it would be a lot harder.鈥�
A couple of hours northwest of Gilford and across the Connecticut River is Bradford, Vermont, a town with a population of about 2,600. Its K-6 school, Bradford Elementary, has 250 kids and is surrounded by rugged, beautiful country.
鈥淭he school won鈥檛 be hard to find,鈥� Sobel had told me. 鈥淚t鈥檚 just past the army tank.鈥�
Even though I was looking for the tank, it proved a jarring sight with its snow-covered barrel facing the road. Neatly positioned between two evergreens, it stood in front of a National Guard outpost from which many locals had been deployed during the past two years.
As promised, just past it was the school. Bradford鈥檚 principal, an affable man named Skip Barrett, wore a tie decorated with cartoon illustrations of children鈥檚 faces. He鈥檇 been working there for 30 years but had yet to shake his native Boston accent.
鈥淗ow has CO-SEED been?鈥� I asked.
鈥淎 breath of fresh air,鈥� he answered.
鈥淲hy did you want to be a CO-SEED school?鈥�
鈥淥ur average teacher had been here about 20 years, and there was a concern with鈥攚ell, let鈥檚 just say I鈥檝e always been a proponent that variety is as much a spark for teachers as it is for the kids.鈥�
Bradford had been a CO-SEED school for two years. With one more year to go, the number of teachers taking kids outside had grown, but not as dramatically as at Gilford. More impressive to me were the many ways Bradford Elementary had embraced (and been embraced by) the surrounding community. Everyone I spoke to credited this success to Heather Toulmin, the school鈥檚 place-based educator.
Thirty-three and pregnant with her first child, Toulmin has had a meandering career that has included a stint at law school as well as work with prisoners, illiterate adults, and environmental groups. She has a wholesome, open face and a straightforward, unpretentious manner. Her thin, gentle voice often lilts up at the end of a sentence, turning it into a question, as in, 鈥淚鈥檓 not someone who鈥檚 ever said, 鈥楪ee, this is what I want to be when I grow up?鈥� 鈥�
Toulmin has a genius for school-community projects. To name just a few she鈥檚 shepherded during the past two years: Kindergartners grew flowers in class, then planted them on Main Street with aid from the Bradford Beautification Committee; the merchants鈥� association and a local police officer helped arrange Bike & Walk to School & Work Day; and a dozen adult volunteers ran workshops for kids on hobbies like carpentry, photography, yoga, and golf. (Indeed, Bradford Elementary鈥檚 projects have attracted so many volunteers, the school had to write a grant to fund a community-parent coordinator.)
During my visit, yet another ambitious project was well under way. To get to know the community and understand its needs, Toulmin attends meetings of various groups. At a gathering of conservation-minded folk, she鈥檇 discovered that most Bradford residents didn鈥檛 know all the local lands open to the public. So she suggested that the 5th and 6th graders get the word out by making an informational brochure and map. The school鈥檚 enrichment teacher signed on to help, as did members of the conservation group. Toulmin also tracked down cartographers to help map the trails.
When the enrichment class met, I spoke with the students about the project. Joe, who wore a sleeveless T-shirt, explained, 鈥淲e鈥檙e making a map for people about all the properties in this area so they know where they can hike and camp and stuff. 鈥機ause a lot of people like to hike and camp and go fishing and hunt, but they don鈥檛 know where.鈥�
鈥淒o you hunt?鈥�
鈥淵eah, with my dad. I shot a deer last fall.鈥�
鈥淲hat did that feel like?鈥�
鈥淚t felt good. I was surprised I even hit it!鈥�
鈥淲hat did you do with it?鈥�
鈥淲e ate it.鈥�
The kids explained that they鈥檇 divided into groups to work on different aspects of the project. Some helped with copy, some mapped, some did layout, and some, Joe told me, 鈥渄id outdoor effex.鈥�
鈥淲hat鈥檚 that?鈥� I asked.
鈥淟ike how to behave when you鈥檙e outside.鈥�
I still didn鈥檛 get it, so Toulmin helped me out, saying, 鈥淗e means ethics.鈥�
Joe鈥檚 best friend, Sam, had a shaved head, blue eyes, and a tie-dye shirt. His group was responsible for the descriptions that would go in the brochure, descriptions they were now editing. There鈥檇 been research, Sam told me. 鈥淟ike, if there were trails, we had to go see were they marked and how long they were, or if they were narrow or easy going or muddy, and we had to tell, like, the wildlife that鈥檚 in the area.鈥�
鈥淧lus tell where to park,鈥� added Joe. 鈥淪o we give them directions.鈥�
鈥淥h, yeah,鈥� said Sam. 鈥淎nd say if there鈥檚 restrooms.鈥�
I asked the boys if they鈥檇 known these places before doing the project.
鈥淥nly some,鈥� said Joe. 鈥淟ike, I barely knew the Munsipall Forest.鈥�
鈥淭he what?鈥�
Again Toulmin came to my aid: 鈥淗e means the Municipal Forest.鈥�
鈥淵eah,鈥� he said. 鈥淢uninsipall.鈥�
鈥淲ill you go back to the Municipal Forest?鈥�
鈥淵eah, I鈥檒l go with Sam.鈥�
Mentally, I ticked off subjects and skills this project addressed: geography, mapmaking, measuring, animal habitats, research, diverse uses of the forest, observation, descriptive writing, and editing. After speaking to a plump, giggly blond-haired girl named Courtney, I added social studies and public speaking, as well.
Her group鈥檚 job was to interview the landowners. She told me, 鈥淔irst we called the town hall to find their names. And I never even knew we had a town hall. So then we had to call the landowners and ask what they allowed. Like, could you hike there, bike, fish, snowmobile鈥攚hatever.鈥�
鈥淒id you know these people, or were you calling strangers?鈥�
鈥淪ome were strangers.鈥�
鈥淲ow. Was that hard for you?鈥�
鈥淎t first I was nervous 鈥檆ause I鈥檓 a really shy kid. But once I did it, I kind of got the hang of it.鈥�
When a parent and a graphic designer (who鈥檇 volunteered to help the kids with the layout) arrived with a large van, the students, Toulmin, the enrichment teacher, and I left school to visit a print shop, where we saw firsthand how the brochure would be produced.
The enrichment teacher鈥檚 name is Michael Morgan, and this was his first year on the job. I said, 鈥淭his whole project must be a lot of work for you.鈥�
鈥淎 lot more than I鈥檇 expected,鈥� he admitted.
鈥淲ould you do it again?鈥�
鈥淵eah,鈥� he said, smiling. 鈥淭he kids have this expectation now. They keep telling me, 鈥榃e want to do this again!鈥� 鈥�
It鈥檚 a sign of the times that I asked the principals at both Gilford and Bradford whether CO-SEED had improved test scores.
McGonagle said classes immersed in the program tend to do better than those that are not, and Barrett reported that math and reading scores in Bradford had improved and that disciplinary referrals had fallen an impressive 30 percent. 鈥淚 stop short of making a direct link between CO-SEED, test scores, and discipline,鈥� he added. 鈥淏ut in the culture and climate of this school, the kids are more engaged.鈥� Despite the lack of an incontrovertible link, Barrett wasn鈥檛 taking any chances; already he was looking for ways to fund Toulmin鈥檚 position once the CO-SEED grant was done.
So what I wanted to know, and what I asked everyone, was this: 鈥淚f place-based learning is so great, why isn鈥檛 the whole world doing it?鈥�
Several obstacles were mentioned. There were the logistical problems of taking kids outside: permission slips, transportation, worries about liability, the need for substitutes. There was also the curricular element. Not every teacher鈥檚 mind works in a place-based way. Not every teacher, when teaching rock formation, thinks to do a unit on the local slate quarries. Not every teacher, when teaching the Civil War, brings her students to the local graveyard, where they can research the veterans buried there, then has them write about the soldiers鈥� lives and present the biographies to the local historical society.
Another obstacle everyone cited was fear鈥攕pecifically, fear of high-stakes testing. Given the consequences legislated by the No Child Left Behind Act, many teachers are afraid to try something new. It seems safer to take no chances: drill and kill, drill and kill.
鈥淭he thing teachers need to understand,鈥� Sobel told me, 鈥渋s that you can鈥檛 really teach to a test. Because you never know what鈥檚 going to be on the test. So what students need are problem-solving and analytical skills to help them deal with whatever they encounter in assessments.鈥�
What seemed to trouble Sobel most, though, and roused him to indignant eloquence was the way NCLB inspired such a limited view of education. 鈥淥f course academic achievement is important,鈥� he said. 鈥淏ut the sole function of a school shouldn鈥檛 be to turn out good test-takers. Schools should also be developing the skills of civic participation, and students should be exploring their communities and helping to make them better, healthier places to live. If it鈥檚 only academics, you diminish the virtue and potential that a school can achieve.鈥�
